


shuffle, play, repeat

by nefertiti



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brother/Sister Incest, Cousin Incest, Cousins, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Love, Minor Character Death, R plus L equals J, Sibling Love, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nefertiti/pseuds/nefertiti
Summary: One-Shot Collection - Life's not a love song, but our story is pretty close.





	1. violet hill

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter Arya is 12 and Jon is 17.

_"I took my love down to violet hill_  
_There we sat in snow_  
_All that time she was silent still_  
_Said if you love me  
Won't you let me know?_

**\- Violet Hill by Coldplay**

* * *

 

The snow chilled Jon Stark from the inside out, but he was used to it – preferred it even to warmth.  He sat on the steps of the church listening to the choir’s faint singing. He may not have been catholic, like the rest of his siblings, but he had always admired the slow drone of the children's singing; it sounded like something beautiful and yet somewhat horrifying.

The rest of his family were inside the cathedral. They always got excited for Midnight Mass. Jon didn’t have a place in there. He knew that. Not with Catelyn Stark’s cold eyes on him. With the exception of Rickon, all of his siblings were old enough to note their mother’s disdain towards him and the atmosphere usually became awkward whenever she set her eyes on him and said something harsh. Knowing this, he didn’t want to spoil their night. He knew what would happen if he went inside and sat with them. Catelyn would be angry, his father would try to soothe her with a hand behind her back, Robb would shift uncomfortably, and Bran would throw Jon concerned looks, Sansa would keep her head forward but her smile would turn into a frown. Arya was the only one who understood how miserable their pity made Jon feel. She would typically slip her hand in his and hold on tight, but even the idea of that wasn’t enough to sway Jon inside.

In any case when he lit the first candle on the menorah with his father earlier that evening, well that was enough to make him happy. Jon didn’t need to intrude on their family time any more than he usually did.

If anything this was the sort of thing that made Jon happy that he was leaving home next year. At university he wouldn’t have to carry the guilt of being a product of some tawdry affair that his father refused to speak of. No one would know him as Ned Stark’s illegitimate son. No one would frown at him for entering a room.  It wouldn’t even be lonely. Robb was coming with him. He was never more than grateful that they were the same age. His brother, more outgoing than Jon had ever been, made meeting new people look easy, and he would always drag Jon along into new acquaintances with him.

The only thing Jon would regret leaving behind was his family. He would miss his father’s solemn face, so much like his, and the way Ned would sometimes smile so indulgently at him, his eyes far away. He would miss Bran and his curiosity and his lively spirit. He would miss Rickon’s babbles and his sweet smiles. He would even miss the way Sansa would insist on teaching him the proper way to talk to the girls that he liked. And Arya  –

He would miss her more than anything.

Her messy dark hair and skinny frame…she was all knees and elbows. He would miss the way she would grin at him, those sharp, grey eyes dancing whenever he caught her in the middle of some sort of mischief and how she’d inveigle him to help, whether she was pulling a prank on Theon or skipping the etiquette classes her mother made her go to. Most of all, he would miss the way she could always urge a smile from his lips. Theon had told him enough that he was an emo son of a bitch, but Arya could always bring him out of his foulest moods.

As if conjured by his thoughts, he heard footsteps behind him. He knew it was Arya just by the tread of her feet. She was always quicker than she needed to be.

“Be careful you don’t slip and fall on the steps, little sister.”

He heard an irritated huff behind him. “How did you know it was me?”

“I can’t go about giving away all my secrets now, can I?”

She hopped down the steps, two at a time and sat next to him. She didn’t seem to care that her pale, green dress and white cardigan would get dirty sitting on the bare concrete, so he didn’t either. He just wrapped his arm around her shoulder and let her burrow into his side.

She glanced at him and smiled wickedly, and as if reading his thoughts said, “If I get enough stains on this dress, mum won’t even bother sending it to the laundry.”

“Is that what you did to your bat mitzvah dress?” he asked, curious. Jon remembered the ghastly, frilly, pink thing Sansa and Catelyn forced her into all those months ago. Arya had pouted, and ranted, and crossed her arms, and was this close to throwing a tantrum but her mother, neither her sister would be persuaded. He never _did_ see it again.

“You have your secrets...” she let her voice trail off.

They sat in silence for a while until Arya poked him in the ribs. He looked down at her and she gave him that infectious grin.

“Shouldn’t you be inside now?” he asked.

“I should,” she shrugged. “But I had the feeling that you were out here brooding and you know I can’t have that.”

“I wasn’t brooding I was –” she raised a brow. Her dark eyes seemed to say _‘Who do you think you’re kidding?’_ He shouldn’t have bothered anyway. She could always see right through him. It was like she could read his mind. He supposed it was only fair. He could see through any facade she tried to put up. It made sense that it worked both ways.

“I was just thinking about Uni.” He said finally.

Storm clouds gathered in her eyes as it always did at the talk of his imminent departure, and he almost regretted bringing it up.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, stupid.”

He squeezed his arm around her shoulder tighter at the slight hitch in her voice. He was more than happy to leave the Winterfell Manor, but leaving her...

“I always knew you’d have to leave eventually,” she said. Jon could tell she trying for flippancy, so he let her get away with it for now.

“You could always come with,” he teased. “I’ll hide you in my travel bag and you’ll crawl out when we’re in my dorm room. If nothing else, you’ll scare the shit out of Robb.”

“If we can terrify Robb you know I’m all for it.”

“You’d probably find everything there more exciting. It’d certainly be more interesting than Madame Mordane’s ridiculous classes.”

“What about – nothing,” her voice tapered off, and Jon had never heard her sound so small.

“What is it?” he asked, a little wildly. It wasn’t very often that he didn’t know exactly what was on her mind.

“Nothing!” Arya protested. “It’s just,” she pulled away from him slightly so she could look him in the face. “When you’re at school and you won’t see me every day and pretty girls start batting their camel lashes at you, you won’t forget me will you?”

“Arya,” he started. Well it made sense that he couldn’t read her thoughts if this was what she was thinking. This was far beyond the realm of what he ever thought could run through her head. “That’s not possible. Who could ever forget you?”

 “You’d be surprised,” she muttered darkly, bowing her head. He knew she was having some trouble with some of her friends at school, the ones with the weird nicknames; they were joining some boys only club and she felt left out. People leaving her seemed to be something that happened to her more often than not, but even though he had to go, he never wanted her to doubt his love for her. That might just be the one thing in the world that was absolute.

“Look at me, little sister,” he took her chin between his gloved fingers, leaving her no choice but to listen. “It doesn’t matter where I go, or who I meet, or how far away from you I am; you’re always going to be my favourite girl.”

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, looking up at him. Whatever she seemed to find in his expression made her eyes soften and she smiled, brighter than the sun. Sitting outside this dirty church next to him, she never looked more beautiful and he told her as much.

She shoved him lightly. “Who cares about beautiful?” but Jon could see the red hue tinting her cheeks.

“I suppose I’d better go back inside before mum starts fretting,” Arya said reluctantly.

“She didn’t know you were coming out here?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“No,” she said slowly. “It was time for communion. I think I should thank you. I didn’t have to pretend to sip that gross wine because of you.” She slipped out from under his arm and kissed him quickly on his cheek before running up the steps and darting back through the church doors. It was a wonder, with all the slippery snow, that she didn't fall.

Jon shook his head and smiled as he watched her retreating form, feeling lighter than he had in days.

He really would miss her more than anything.

 


	2. i know you care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya is 16 and Jon is 21 in this chapter.

_"I know you care_  
_I see it in the way that you stare_  
_As if there was trouble ahead, and you knew it_  
_I'll be saving myself from the ruin_

 _I know it wasn't always wrong_  
_But I've never known a winter so cold_  
_Now I don't warm my hands in a coat_  
_But I still hope_

**\- I Know You Care by Ellie Goulding**

* * *

 

Arya thought that she should be a lot sadder. She and Gendry had broken up two weeks ago, after he decided to enlist in the army – _and without even asking her opinion about it too_ – and if that had happened a month or even a few weeks ago she would have been gutted. At the moment however, she couldn’t feel anything else but relief.

Jon was coming home today.

And for weeks before their split, that was all she could talk about. How could she think about anything else when her brother – no, her best friend was coming home to her? Today though, how could she think about anything else when Gendry’s parting words rang through her head like a bell?

“ _We always knew I was your second choice,_ ” he’d joked. “ _Now if I knew who I was in competition with, I’d be able to kick his ass...but...it’s better this way isn’t it?_ ”

She couldn’t even protest when he said it. She was ashamed that she had been so obvious.

Arya was eleven the first time she thought about kissing her brother. She had just started noticing other boys and to her, Jon was the most captivating of them all. No matter how much Arya tried to shake it, she just couldn’t get it out of her head. It struck her that she didn’t see anything odd in it at the time. It was just love, to her childish brain, different but still love. She was so young then and no one had ever noticed. She never acted any differently around him and when she started dating Gendry, she put the thought from her mind.

 If she told her family that she wasn’t upset over her ex-boyfriend, then she wouldn’t have to deal with her mother’s sympathetic looks, and her father’s worried eyes, and her brothers’ overcompensating by dragging her along to play videogames at the arcade with them all week (which she really didn’t mind come to think of it) but there were some things that should be left unsaid. Her head was already in a weird place and it was better if everyone just thought it was because she was upset about Gendry. She should be after all, and she was acutely aware of how strange it was that she wasn’t.

Sansa had plied her with ice-cream, and potato chips, and pathetic rom-coms the first night when Arya had gotten home, but Arya just hadn’t been in the mood. She endured it for a few hours, of course. After Sansa had broken up with that little shit, Joffery, and when she found out that Loras was gay and seeing Renly behind her back, and when...well Sansa really didn’t have the best of luck when it came to love. Arya had sat through countless screenings of The Notebook with her sister, trading their different flavours of Ben and Jerry’s back and forth whilst Sansa sobbed – Sansa was always fine after a good cry – and she knew Sansa wanted to return the favour, but Arya’s heart just wasn’t in it.

Her heart was taking its good time coming back for his summer visit.

Robb was coming back with him, and bringing his new girlfriend with him. She wondered if Jon had somebody at Vale University too, but she dashed the thought from her mind as quickly as it came. Jon would have told her if he had. He’d kept his word, her brother. He never forgot her.

Jon called her often and they video chatted every other week. He never let her miss a thing that was going on in his life. He told her all about his classes, and Professor Thorne, who didn’t like him very much. He told her how frustrated he felt when he failed his first exam and how bizarrely disappointed he was when Robb passed with flying colours. He’d told her when he met Ygritte, a waitress at the cafe he and his friends spent most of their time at. Jon hadn’t neglected her like Arya’d feared when he and Ygritte started dating.  And yet, she was envious. She didn’t understand it at the time. Jon and she still talked as much as they could and he never made her feel like anything was any different, so she tried to let it go. And when he told her that he and Ygritte broke up because Ygritte wanted to go back home, and how Sam, a theology major and one of his closest friends, had to drag him out of bed and force him to go to class, she was sad. She may have been jealous of someone knowing Jon in a way she couldn’t, but she didn’t want him to get hurt.

That was two years ago and he’d moved on. And her feelings of jealousy and uncertainty moved on with him. She hadn’t even thought of that in a while.

However, he wasn’t the only one who shared. In return she told him everything too. She told him more than she should have, really. She’d never been good at hiding things from him. He’d known everything about her from the moment she was old enough to know what it was to confide in someone. She’d even told him when she lost her virginity, which in retrospect she probably shouldn’t have. Jon hadn’t been pleased.

A part of her found that thrilling when she thought about it. She knew it was just his protective nature kicking in and not envy but...she hoped. Hope was a bitter drug.

Gendry always used to tell her that he felt like there was someone else in the middle of their relationship. She’d gotten a bit stroppy the first time he said it. If he was implying that she’d _ever_ cheat on him; that wasn’t it though. She knew that. When she hid away bits of herself away from Gendry, she knew it in her heart that it wasn’t because she wanted to take it slow like she kept telling herself. She’d given other parts of herself away without worrying a thing about it. She knew exactly why she had never been able to fully give herself to him. And the thought excited her as much as it confused her. She’d thought about it the entire time she was at the arcade last night. Rickon had even managed to beat her playing Super Mario Bros and that wasn’t easy to do.

That didn’t matter now though.

What mattered was what she was going to do about Jon.

She loved him, and not just the way a sister should. She was _in_ love with him. She understood that now. If she were being honest with herself, she’d understood that for a while now.

There wasn’t anything she could do about it. Not really. Jon was her brother and he loved her the way any good brother would, if not a touch more. If he knew the things that had been running through her head this past month, he’d be horrified and she would hardly be able to blame him. She knew that and she knew that she wasn’t willing to risk what they had, and still, the thought of pressing her lips against his made her shiver.

“Arya!” the door to her bedroom slammed open, drawing her from her reverie.

It was her little brother. Bran’s eyes were cheerful and excited and she knew what that meant. She shook the messy thoughts out of her head and grinned.

“They’re here?”

Bran nodded vigorously in response, his auburn curls bouncing with him. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t even hear the front door.

“Where are they?” she asked.

“Robb’s downstairs with mum and a girl. Her name’s Jeyne. She’s pretty.”

“And Jon?”

“He’s in his room I think.” Bran said, quickly. Then he rolled his eyes, “Go on then. I’ll tell mum you’re talking to Jon.”

“Wait Bran I-” but Bran already darted from her room and she could hear him running down the stairs.

She looked at what she was wearing, gym shorts and a baggy t-shirt. _I should go change_ , she thought. But she tossed the idea aside after a moment of deliberating. As confusing as everything was in her head right now, it was still Jon. Jon, the person she was most comfortable around. And it wasn’t as if she _needed_ to go see him first. She could take a breath. Head downstairs to see Robb and meet his girlfriend, laugh while their mother fusses over him. Give her half brother a moment’s rest. If she did, she’d be the only one who knew why, however Arya was many things but never a coward.

She stalked down the hall and was about to march into her brother’s room, but she paused at the doorway. He was fastidiously unpacking, putting clothes in drawers and books on shelves. If it were her she would have just dumped everything on her bed.

“So is the Vale finally done stealing you away from me?” she joked after a moment.

He turned around but he didn’t seem all too surprised to see her there. “For the moment, yes.”

“Well I’ll take what I can get.” Arya said. She barely got the words out before Jon strode across the room and swept her up in a bone crushing hug. When they both let go of each other he captured her face between his hands and smiled down at her warmly.

She smiled at how easy this was. No. It didn’t need to be strange. Nothing had changed between them after all.

“You’d love it,” he said, picking the conversation back up as he watched her shut the door and make her way to his bed. “There’s this freedom that comes from not living at home.”

Arya flopped down on the bed. The pillows were a little dusty, but she didn’t mind.

 “Freedom. I can’t believe Sansa’s off to university in a few months. Then it’ll be me, then Bran, then Rickon.”

“Yeah, it’s called growing up.” Jon sat down on the bed next to her. He leaned over to ruffle her hair and Arya wrinkled her nose at him.

“I don’t think I’m that excited to go.” She pushed herself up and shifted around until she was sitting opposite Jon. “I mean I thought I’d be, but graduating from high school to spend four more years behind a desk...it’s just not what I dreamed of.”

Jon looked at her thoughtfully,”You’ve always been more adventurous than the rest of us,” then as if remembering something, he smiled.  “You were so miserable when I left. It was adorable.”

“Adorable!” she shoved at him. “I was heartbroken, you prick. You’ll see. When it’s my turn to leave you.”

Jon grinned and there were hints of her all over his face, in the curve of his cheekbones, the pout of his lips, the grey in his eyes. They really did look alike, more so than any of their other siblings. That thought shouldn’t have made her want to kiss him, but it did.

It was dangerous. Stupid even. Every bone in her body warned her against it but she just – she flung herself in his arms and kissed him urgently. Reason was never a good friend to her. His hands came around her waist instinctively and she insistently slanted her lips over his in return. She didn’t even realise that her brother was kissing her back until she felt his arms tighten around her waist. _He was kissing her back!_ She let out a broken sound when his tongue traced the seam of her lips and it just seemed to spur him on. And there must have been a snowstorm brewing in hell because this was beyond the realm of what she ever could have imagined.

She never wanted it to stop.

At some point they fell back on the bed with Arya half on top of him and their legs tangled together.

Arya pulled away first, mentally cursing the necessity for air. However, when she caught her breath she didn’t kiss him again. She traced his face with her fingers and gazed into his eyes and there was a look in those eyes that was familiar to her. Guilt. She often saw in her own.

“Arya,” Jon said desperately. “No one can know.”

No. No one ever could. She knew that. And while she so loved secrets, this one – it was one for the ages.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got asked for a continuation of the last chapter so...here it is.
> 
> I won't do many continuations. These are meant to be individual drabbles (although some will be a bit too long to be called drabbles), but I couldn't pass up this request. I already knew what I wanted to happen anyway.


	3. gone gone gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Arya is 17 and Jon is 22.

_And if your well is empty_  
_Not a thing will prevent me._  
_Tell me what you need_  
_What do you need?_  
  
_I surrender honestly._  
_You've always done the same for me._  
  
_So I would do it for you_

**\- Gone Gone Gone by Phillip Phillips**

* * *

 

“Arya,” Catelyn Stark said, with tears in her eyes. “Did you hear me?”

As she stood in the middle of the living-room, Arya Stark could barely understand what her mother had said. The high she had been riding on since fencing practice had plummeted straight to the ground. Earlier, before she left the gym, Master Forel had told her that if she practised long and hard enough then she would be a shoe-in to win at finals next month and she was so happy then. That joy was gone now. Nothing was left but grief.

Dead?

Aunt Lyanna was dead.

It was a difficult idea for Arya to come to terms with. It seemed impossible. Lyanna Targaryen was so indomitable. So alive. Arya admired her more than any other woman she knew. And now – a hit and run. It just seemed like such a mundane thing. Not something that could kill someone like her aunt, who was so fierce and beautiful and wild.

She looked around the room and she could see the shock in everyone’s faces. Bran had his arms around Sansa as she cried into his shoulder, and his eyes weren’t dry either. Rickon held their mother’s hands tightly as tears slowly rolled down his cheeks and he just looked lost. And Jon – she didn’t see him anywhere.

She didn’t have to ask where her cousin was. She was certain it was the same place she went four years ago after Robb and her father died when the family jet crashed with them in it. Aunt Lyanna and Jon had moved in with them after that, to help Catelyn with the extra weight that was now on her shoulders. And now –

“How did Jon take the news?” she asked finally, her voice hoarse. And she hadn’t even begun crying yet. She couldn’t imagine how Jon felt.

 “He hasn’t said a word to anyone since we found out.” Catelyn said. The concern in her voice was unusual.

Catelyn Stark had never had a problem with Jon but Arya knew that her mother disapproved of the way her aunt and Uncle Rhaegar went about starting their relationship, running away together when they were so young and leaving Rhaegar’s former fiancé, Elia Martell out in the cold. Jon bore some of the brunt of that disapproval. It had lessened after Rhaegar died but it was still there. She knew her father had disapproved too, but he loved his sister more than anything and Jon, he had loved Jon too.

If her father were here he’d know what to do.

He wasn’t though. He was gone the same way Robb was gone. The same way Uncle Benjen was gone.  The same way Uncle Brandon was gone. The same way Aunt Lyanna was gone now too.

Arya took a step backwards. And then another. And another. And then she turned around and ran out through the backdoor, ignoring the shouts of her name. She ran past the patio and past the gardens until she reached the godswood.

Her father’s side of the family saw the godswood as some sort of holy place. Her father told her that his family used to worship by the weirwood tree and that their prayers were heard the loudest there. Her father and her aunt and uncles showed her how to pray by the heart tree. Arya could always feel a power thrumming through her veins when she came to the godswood. It made her feel safe. It was where she went after her father died and it was where she knew her cousin would be now.

And he was. He sat at the periphery of the hot springs, dipping his hand in the water. It was dark and she could hardly see him. His head was dipped, looking at his image reflected inside the pools in the moonlight.

Arya could read his sorrow in the curve of his back, hunched in when his posture was usually as straight as a line. It was a far cry from yesterday when they were in her bed watching Blackadder on the telly, and laughing. Or even this morning before school, when her legs were wrapped around his waist and his mouth was at her throat.

She wanted to cry looking at him, but she needed to be strong now.

Arya approached Jon slowly, not wanting to startle him. She settled next to him in the grass. She didn’t say a word. Normally she was the chatterbox during their interactions, but this time she would let him decide when he was ready to talk.

It wasn’t easy. Her fingers itched to take Jon in her arms and say comforting things. She wasn’t good at consoling people. Not usually. She was too brash, her mother often said. She spoke before she could think and it offended people. It was never that way with Jon. He never seemed to get angry, no matter what she said.

She remembered when Ned Stark had died, how she refused to talk to anyone and how Jon lay in bed with her and held her until she stopped crying. She wanted to do the same for him.

The moon cast a glow over his face. His skin was smooth, and pale, and beautiful. Death had just struck at the core of their family, and she still wanted him. Arya shook her head. She could think of the later, much later. Now, they both needed something different.

Arya would have never been able to guess that he knew she was there until he started speaking, his words soft.

 “I have an Aunt. Daenerys. She lives in Israel with her husband. She wants me to come live with her now that –”

“You can’t go!” Arya protested immediately. “You just – you can’t!”

Jon lips twitched at that. It wasn’t a smile, but it was something. “I’m not going to,” he looked at her finally, his grey eyes boring into hers. Steel meeting steel. “I’m not a child anymore. I don’t have to do what people tell me to.”

She nodded. She could hear what he wasn’t saying. She and her cousin were much alike. He had a temper, just like she did. And he had his pride. The thought of someone, even a loved one, suggesting that he live on their pity: it infuriated him.

Silence fell over them again once again and in the quiet she could hear the shallow sound of their breathing. His eyes were still on hers and she had wondered about that. Everyone had said that she looked so much like Lyanna and while she never saw it, enough people said it that she knew it must be true. She wondered if it hurt him to look at her.

Or maybe he was grateful that she looked so much like his mother. Maybe he would feel like a part of her was still here. She knew that was how she felt about Jon after her father died. He looked more Ned Stark’s son than any of his actual sons and it gave her some semblance of comfort.

“I’m glad it was you that came out here.” Jon said finally.

“Who else?” she smiled and it was when she smiled that she was unable to keep her tears at bay. She ducked her head and let the tears fall. Fall for her Aunt Lyanna, and for her father, and for Robb, and for Jon too.

Before she could look up Jon was crushing her against his body, and she was long past being overwhelmed by his strength. His arms were wrapped around her and she was surrounded by his musky scent and it settled her nerves. She cradled his head in her hands and held him to her like she wanted to the moment she saw him here.

He buried his face in her neck and it wasn’t until she felt him shuddering that she realised he was crying too.

“You’ll get through this.” She was grateful that her voice didn’t wobble. “I’ll help you. I promise.”

The moon cast her glow on them; silent and still and as Jon’s arms tightened around her, she knew that this was something they could get through together.

What did her father tell her when she was little? _The pack survives._

Death kept returning for their family like a monster. Uncompromising and never satisfied. But they were beasts too.  They were Starks. Wolves, her aunt told her once.

And wolves survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask why I kept the godswood in a modern AU. Does it make sense? No. But I'm unreasonably fond of that place.


	4. pillowtalk

_So we'll piss off the neighbours_  
_In the place that feels the tears_  
_The place to lose your fears_  
_Yeah, reckless behaviour_  
_A place that is so pure_  
_So dirty and raw_  
_Be in the bed all day_  
_Fucking in, fighting on_  
_It's our paradise_  
_And it's our war zone_

**\- Pillowtalk by Zayn**

* * *

 

 The night was stormy, grey. Clouds shrouded the dark sky. The rain fell from the heavens in a gentle pour and he could feel the chill in his bones. Cuddle weather, Sansa loved to call it. She wasn’t wrong, Jon supposed but he didn’t have anyone to cuddle with. He and Ygritte were over a long time ago. A few months ago he had Val, but they were just a fleeting thing that never went further than a few weeks. He and Arya – well they weren’t in that place right now.

They were having one of their moments.

Sometimes Jon wondered what they would be like if they never crossed that very thin line that separated them from siblings to – to this. If they remained loving brother and sister and their hands never roamed, and their kisses remained chaste and innocent. Everything was so much more complicated since they became whatever they were now. And still, he wouldn’t change a thing. He would take the sharp words and the angry eyes, the frustration, if it meant getting Arya’s warm smiles and her hard kisses.

Jon sat on the couch in his living room and quietly sipped his tea. He looked out of the window of his flat.

The rain lulled him into a light rest. He started to drift deeper into slumber when a sharp knocking on the door roused him from sleep. He headed to the door, stretching his body as he walked. There was a crick in his neck; it was never wise to fall asleep sitting down.

He wasn’t all too surprised to see who was standing outside his door.

Arya stood before him with her arms folded and her brows furrowed. The hood of her hoodie covered her hair but it didn’t save her from the rain, she was drenched.

“Do you plan on inviting me in or what?” she asked. She didn’t sound too cross, only impatient.

Jon opened the door wider in response and she strode in. Arya shrugged her jacket off and it fell to the ground with a wet _plop_! Jon took a quick glance at what his sister was wearing and rolled his eyes; denim cut offs and a striped vest top with only a hoodie jacket for protection, in _this_ weather?

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Arya never seemed to care about dressing for the weather until it was too late. He almost told her off like he did every time before. Whatever else they were to each other, he cared about her safety. He was her big brother first. He shook his head as if to get that idea out. That line of thinking already filled Jon with guilt and anxiety. He didn’t need to make it worse.

He left her in the living room and went to his room to grab a towel and one of his sweatshirts. When he returned she was kneeling on the couch, staring out the bay window. He tossed them at her. She caught them in her hands – she always had quick reflexes, and glanced up at him with a question in her eyes.

“So you don’t freeze to death,” he answered.

She pressed her lips together and turned away but she started drying her hair off. She had cut her long, brown hair on a whim last year and she’d only just started growing it out again. It didn’t reach her shoulders just yet, but it was getting there. He was looking at her closely but she deliberately kept looking out the window.

Jon huffed. He was frustrated with this game.

Every now and then the impossibility of what they were and the knowledge of what they could never be would wash over them, drowning their happiness and leaving behind a hyperawareness of the reality of their situation. The thought of their father finding out about them – gods be merciful, it horrified him. He knew it scared her too.

Usually they would spend some months apart, try to see other people, be normal. It wasn’t as if they never saw each other during these periods. They did. Just two days ago they went to the riding grounds with Robb and Theon. They just made the effort to never be alone together.

What else were you supposed to do when you were in love with your twenty-two year old sister?

It never really worked.

One of them would cave first – it was usually him, and they’d end up what they were again; a secret thing that needed to be hidden away, as if it were ugly. Dirty.

If the shame was in what they had together then it would have been easier to stay apart, but it was the idea of what everyone that they loved would think that troubled them. For both of them, loving each other was as natural as breathing.

It was funny how it never felt wrong until they were apart.

 “Arya, did you come here for a reason?” he asked after a few moments passed and she didn’t say a word.

She looked at him then. Her grey eyes were cautious. He understood. He felt the same way.

She got off the couch, carefully, took a step towards him and then stopped. It was like she wasn’t sure what to do. Indecision was a peculiar colour on her.

They stared each other down for a moment and he had the bizarre feeling that they were in an old western – two outlaws sizing each other up before they make their move. Arya’s eyes turned from water to steel and her fingers toyed at the hem of her top before she carelessly tugged it off. Jon always liked it when she made the first move. She wasn’t trying to seduce. She didn’t need to. He already thought she was the sexiest thing to walk the earth and she knew it.

She was unbuttoning her pants now, and Arya undressing in front of him was nothing new and there was little that was seductive about it but Jon’s pulse still started to race.

“Arya...” he whispered, his throat was dry. The air tasted of yearning. Desire. It pooled in his gut.

“We don’t have to talk,” she replied, tossing her clothes to the side. “In fact I’d prefer it if we didn’t talk at all.”

She walked over to him in her underwear, her stride confident, until she was standing in front of him. His hands caught her waist without even thinking about it. Her skin was cold. Arya tilted her head upwards and pressed her lips to his. Jon wasn’t particularly tall but Arya was still a head shorter than him. Her mouth tasted like peppermint and the vanilla chap stick she favours. He tightened his arms around her waist lifting her slightly and tugging her closer to him, deepening their kiss.

Every time he kissed her he still felt that same sense of awe he felt the first time she pressed her lips to his.

She pulled away first and searched his eyes with hers, whatever she seemed to find made her smile and silver stars sparkled in her eyes. He couldn’t help himself at that point. He hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, in a perfectly coordinated move.

Arya tucked her face in the crook of his neck and gave him light kisses which sent jolts through his body. It had been weeks and he missed her. He needed to lay her down and put his mouth to her skin. The couch was closer, but he wanted to see her splayed out on his bed.

The gods would curse them for this. He could hardly find it in himself to care.

He carried her to his room easily even though her lips were still attached to his neck and she was doing things with her mouth that made him feel like she was setting him on fire. Burning them both up.

He lay her down on his pillows and made quick work of ridding himself of his clothes. When Jon glanced at Arya, she was staring at him shamelessly. For the first time in weeks, he grinned and she smiled in return. It was almost incredible how easy it was for them to fall back into old patterns.

Seeing Arya sprawled out on his bed, Jon wanted nothing more than to thrust into her and make her eyes roll to the back of her head but he also wanted to take his time with her. He missed her and he wanted to savour this moment.

“Oh would you stop thinking so hard and get over here,” Arya groaned.

Jon was all too happy to comply. He crawled on top of her and covered her completely with his body. Arya’s personality made it easy for people to forget how small she was, but he never did. He liked that about her. She was always so short and slender, lithe: she fit so perfectly in his arms. It was almost as if she was made for him.

He kissed bruises all over her neck. Marking her. She was going to curse him out when she had to spend the next week wearing turtlenecks and scarves but he found that he didn’t care. She was his. As much his as she could ever be, and he wanted the marks to show it.

His mouth trailed down her neck and to the globes of her breasts, still covered. Arya was still more dressed than he was somehow, but he didn’t have the time to focus on that. He unclasped her bra and tossed it on the ground somewhere, revealing her small, pert breasts to him. He was torn for a moment between staring at her chest and putting his mouth to it, but as much as he loved looking at her, he needed to please her.

Jon’s cock was hard between his legs as he took a dusty pink nipple in his mouth and when she groaned he felt a jolt of desire. He enjoyed lavishing attention on her breasts. His hand came to her other breast and he rolled her nipple between his fingers.

It wasn’t until one of Arya’s hands twisted in his hair and tugged at it that he pulled away reluctantly. When he looked up at Arya, she was breathing heavily, her eyes were bright and there were roses in her cheeks.

“It would be really embarrassing if I came just from that,” she said almost teasingly.

“ _I’d_ take it as a compliment,” Jon grinned, but he acquiesced and started moving his mouth further down her body.

Her breath hitched as he placed open mouthed kisses down the plane of her belly and Arya was anything but pliant underneath him. Her hands came to his shoulders and she tried to push him further down – she loved his tongue.

Jon had never been with anyone quite like her. Arya was an active lover when she was with him. She moaned, and screamed, and scratched, and bit, and laughed and pulled him wherever she wanted him. Jon loved it.

He tapped her lightly on her thigh and she got the hint and lifted herself so he could take off her knickers. He wasted no time in placing kisses and bites on her inner thigh and she widened her legs automatically. Her hands grasped his head and she dug her fingers into his scalp and he got the hint and finally put his mouth where she actually wanted it.

Jon spread her legs even wider and he traced his tongue across her swollen folds. Her grip on his head got tighter and she gasped out a moan as he slipped two fingers inside her. He continued to explore her nether regions with his tongue while he worked her with his fingers.

He took his time as he tasted her, listening to her soft moans. She jerked her hips upwards pushing his fingers deeper.  He circled his tongue around her clit knowing how much it made her lose her mind.

She let out a dragged out moan and Jon felt another jolt of desire. It took everything for him to not put a hand to his cock. It gave him a thrill whenever he put his mouth to her and drew loud noises from her throat.

She grinded into his face and Jon could hardly think; his senses were filled with Arya. He was surrounded by her scent, and her taste, and her loud whines.

“If I tell people how wicked you are, do you think they’ll believe me?” Arya gasped.

He lifted his head and Arya’s bottom lip was caught between her teeth, her left hand was pinching her nipple, her head was thrown back showing the curve of her neck and her chest was heaving. It was an appealing picture.

Jon couldn’t help himself. He hauled himself up so he could kiss her thoroughly. She cradled his hips with her thighs, her hands cupping his cheeks as she kissed him back with fervour. He knew she could taste herself on his mouth and that turned him on even more. He pulled away to take a gasp of air and looked down at her.

“Jon,” she said, looking at him through glassy eyes. “I need to fuck you.”

He almost came right there. He didn’t want to tease her any more. He just wanted – well, her. He always wanted her. He used his hand to place the tip of his cock at her entrance and sank in slowly. She clenched around his cock and he grit his teeth and willed himself not to break right there. He thrust himself into her sharply, not giving her a chance to get used to him. She wouldn’t want one anyway.

Jon hiked one of her legs higher, until it almost touched her breast and he took the time to thank the gods for her athleticism as he thrust deeper and deeper. She let out a strangled moan while she moved in sync with him. Her cunt felt like heaven and he knew he wasn’t going to last very long.

There were loud, wet noises mingled in with her moans and his grunts as his skin slapped against hers, and the sound echoed throughout the room; it should have made him feel embarrassed but all it did was compel him to fuck her even harder.

She dragged her nails down his back as he pounded into her, marking him in her own way, and he would have scars later, but he didn’t care. She arched her back as she grinded into him.

He slipped out of her mid-pump and she smirked. It was exactly what she wanted. She tightened her thighs around his waist and rolled them so that he was on his back below her. She liked this position.

Arya pressed her hands on his chest and rode him as furiously as she did her horse. He couldn't tell if she was damp because of the sweat they were working up, or because of her slightly rain soaked skin. His hands gripped her hips. He could feel her thighs quivering around him and he held out, thrusting upwards. He didn’t want to lose himself until he saw her fall apart on top of him.

It didn’t take long.

Her hands slipped on his sweaty chest and she fell on top of him. She kept riding him but her movement was becoming uncoordinated.  He held her hips and helped raise her up and down. She held on to his shoulder with one hand and kissed him. It was sloppy and dirty and hot as hell.

She didn’t waste any time, she slipped her hands between her thighs and started rubbing herself off. She got even louder as she trashed on top of him. It only took three more thrusts to push her over the edge. She clutched his shoulder as she spasmed around him and he kept driving into her, working her through her orgasm, until her hips stop jerking.

It wasn’t long before he followed her over the edge.

He felt boneless.

They stayed like that, their lips brushing against each other’s until he slipped out of her.

Arya rolled off of him then and they both lay flat on their backs trying to catch their breaths. Jon turned his face to study his sister. There was a small smile playing on her lips and sweat was cooling on her brow. She turned towards him and her smile widened a little.

They were silent as they looked at each other. There was so much they needed to say to each other but it seemed neither of them wanted to spoil the moment. He reached out to trace the lines of her angular face with his fingers. She took the palm of his hand and kissed it lightly.

“I missed you,” they both said it at the same time. Arya smiled at that and she turned her face into his chest.

“I missed us,” she continued, her voice muffled. “I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish things could be different for us.”

He wanted to tell her that things _would_ be different this time around; that nothing would get in the way of them again, but he couldn’t. All he could do was kiss her on the top of her head and say,

“I do too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed this from a "Drabble Collection" to a "One-Shot Collection" because, who am I fooling here? 
> 
> This wasn't actually meant to be this long, but I got carried away.......I get carried away often. 
> 
> Also, I've honestly never written het porn before, so I hope this didn't suck too bad.


	5. i'll stand by you

_Oh, why you look so sad?_  
_Tears are in your eyes_  
_Come on and come to me now_  
_Don't be ashamed to cry_  
_Let me see you through_  
_'cause I've seen the dark side too_  
_When the night falls on you_  
_You don't know what to do_  
_Nothing you confess_  
_Could make me love you less_

**I'll Stand By You by The Pretenders**

* * *

 

Jon was ten when he first woke up in bed next to his sister, his arms were wrapped around her waist and he was spitting tufts of brown hair out of his mouth.

 _I had a bad dream_ she had mumbled almost bashfully when she woke up to see him staring at her, but he didn’t see any reason for her to feel shy about it. Arya always ran to him when she was upset.

She came to him when she needed comfort – when she needed him. It was all the same to Jon. She was welcome to come to him anytime she needed to and he told her as much. She had beamed at him then and her night time visits started to become more frequent.

Not only did Arya start crawling into his bed at night, every time she woke up from a bad dream; she also came to his bed to tell him when she was too ashamed to tell anyone about getting a bad grade in school, or when Sansa and her friends were cruel to her and called her Arya Horseface, or when she and her mother got into an argument.  They would stay up for as long as they could, talking about anything – everything; they would talk until they fell asleep and the next morning Arya would have a smile on her face.

It pleased Jon. The only other person who could quell Arya’s tears was Ned Stark and having something else in common with his father filled him with pride. Despite whatever Catelyn Tully Stark might say when she knew Jon was in hearing range, he _was_ useful.

All he had to do was leave his bedroom door open, in case his little sister had a nightmare.

As they grew, not much changed. Not even when he moved out of their childhood home and into his own flat.  Arya was his most constant visitor, even more so than Sam, who whenever he wasn’t with Gilly, was with him.

It was Sam who first asked about it. He didn’t think it was strange that she visited so often, he had sisters himself but he knew about Jon’s complicated relationship with his stepmother and it was easy to put two and two together and realise that this arrangement wouldn’t make her happy.

 In truth Jon knew it angered Catelyn Stark whenever Arya called home to say she was staying over at Jon’s, but his father was always fine with it and he visited home rarely enough that he never had to see _how_ angry it made her.

In any case, he would never turn his little sister away no matter anyone’s reaction.

He didn’t expect to see her tonight, however. He wasn’t even sure she would have been allowed to do anything but go to school go straight home after for at least a week.

 Yesterday he had gone to pick her up from school to carry her to her fencing training when he found her practically on top of Sansa’s horrible ex-boyfriend, wildly throwing punches. For the most part he knew and trusted her to take care of herself, but starting a fight, and in front of the school no less.

These days it seemed like she was asking for trouble.

So when he came home to find her sitting on his large couch and flipping through the stations on the telly he was honestly surprised. She glanced up at him when he entered and smiled before turning her head back to whatever she was watching.

He doubted that her mother or their father would have been lenient enough to let her come to his flat when they made it clear that she was grounded.

“Arya,” he asked approaching her. “Does your mother know that you’re here?”

“I snuck out the window.” She grinned not observing the way he frowned at her. He didn’t bother to reprimand her or anything of the sort. In any case, it never stopped Arya from doing exactly whatever she wanted to do.

Jon studied his little sister carefully. There were shadows under her eyes; she clearly hadn’t been sleeping for a while. She had a few thin scrapes on her arm, which he was sure had something to do with the fight she got into yesterday. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick. Her hair was tangled, but that was nothing new. She had always been strangely messy for a girl, but she looked dishevelled today. He doubted anyone even noticed. Their father was out of town on business and he was the only one in their family who paid as much attention to her as he did.

“What? Bran helped!” she objected when she noticed his expression.

Well perhaps Bran noticed something too. Bran was young, but perceptive.

Jon could push her, ask her what was wrong; make her tell him. He could, but he would rather she told him when she was ready. He flopped down on the couch next to her.

“Well, your mother’s going to murder me,” he said, his tone jovial as he tried to figure out what she was watching. She had settled on some cooking show he didn’t know.

Arya tried to elbow his side but he was used to her and her pointy elbows and dodged it easily enough. That didn’t stop her from trying again. She only gave up when she shifted all the way to the other side of the couch.

“No she won’t, but that doesn’t matter. You’d die for me in a minute, wouldn’t you Jon?” she teased.

“You know I would, little wolf,” he grinned at her.

“Good, then you’re brave enough to face my mother’s wrath whenever you see her again,” she shrugged.

“Or I could run away crying when she starts yelling at me.” Jon joked.

Arya snorted. “You haven’t done that since you were twelve.”

His head snapped towards her but she kept her face studiously on the television. “...How did you even –”

Arya pressed her lips into a thin line before answering, “Just because you _think_ you’re good at hiding things from me doesn’t mean you actually are.”

The mood had shifted substantially. The humour was gone. Perhaps it was for the best. He didn’t want Arya to leave his flat as miserable as she entered it.

“And what about you then?” he asked. He couldn’t help himself. “Why do you think you can hide things from me?”

“What are you talking about?” she raised a brow. “I’m not–”

“You look a mess.” He cut through her denial before she could voice it. They rarely ever lied to each other. He didn’t want that to be a new habit.

“Thanks Jon,” she snapped. “You really do know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Don’t joke around. Just...tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded.

Arya looked at him finally and he let out a sigh of relief. He could at least read her if he was looking in her eyes.

“I can’t...it’s stupid, and embarrassing,” she sighed. “You would think I’m such an idiot.”

“Have I ever judged you before?” his brows were furrowed.

She shook her head.

“Then let me help. Whatever it is it’ll be fine, I promise.”

He promised but didn’t mean it. If she said she was pregnant or running off to join the army or becoming a trapeze artist, he might burst a vein. Arya was always such a wildcard; you never knew what was going to come out of her mouth.

Arya blushed red before answering. “I just – I thought I would have gotten over it by now. I’m almost an adult, but I hate being the ugly sister. I hate it! Sansa gets all the beauty and charm and I’m just the gangly, plain little sister. It’s not fair!”

So that’s what this was all about. Jon wished Arya could see herself through his eyes; Jon thought that she was lovely. And he wasn’t alone in that sentiment. He saw the way men stared at her when they went out together. Arya on the other hand, seemed oblivious to it.

“That’s why I lost it yesterday,” she admitted. “Joffery had heard Sansa and Jeyne calling me Arya Horseface once when Sansa was actually dating that prick, and he thought it was brilliant. He got some of his friends to start calling me Arya Horseface again.”

 “So you beat him up?” Jon said at the same time Arya said, “So I beat him up.”

 _Well_ , Jon supposed, _that made sense_. Arya was always a cute child, despite her sister and mother’s remarks, and had grown in to her beauty the moment she hit puberty, but he knew her well enough to know that disparaging comments about her looks made her fly off the handle.

It was because of all the years of being bullied about her looks. It brought back old pains. Jon wished he could protect her from feeling like this, but there were too many things that were beyond his control. _Arya knows how to handle herself_ , he reminded himself. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the primal urge to protect her all the time.

There were silent tears starting to fall from Arya’s eyes and she brushed them away angrily. Jon wanted nothing else but to get her to stop crying.

“Come over here,” Jon said, his voice demanding.

Arya looked at him, a little startled. He used that voice while he was at work or whenever he had to face Catelyn Tully, but never at her.

Arya would have protested but whatever she saw in his eyes made her draw herself closer to him.

Jon took her chin in between two fingers and looked at her. “You’re a very beautiful girl Arya.”

She looked at him doubtfully.

“I mean it. You’ve seen pictures of Aunt Lyanna. She looks like your doppelganger and everyone who knew you both say you’re just as beautiful as she ever was. You shouldn’t take the words of the people who bullied you over everyone else. Sansa and Jeyne and Joffery will only ever see what they want to see and they must be blind if they haven’t even noticed how pretty you are.”

She schooched closer to him. Arya wouldn’t ask to be hugged but he knew her and he knew that was what she needed at the time.

Jon wrapped his arms around her petite frame and she buried her face in his shirt until her tears ran dry.

She raised her head from his chest and her eyes were red and her face splotchy, but she said, “Thanks Jon.”

Jon kissed her lightly on the lips and Arya beamed up at him. He smiled back and both their eyes turned to the telly in sync.

After a moment he looked down at Arya to suggest watching something other than a marathon of Cutthroat Kitchen, but he saw that she was sleeping. Her hands were clutching his shirt and she breathed steadily.

Jon was tired himself. He had a long day at work. He switched off the telly and gently lay down on the couch so as not to disturb Arya’s peace.

The last thought he had before his eyes started to close involuntarily, was that sleeping on the couch would do no good for his back, but he was reluctant to wake his little sister.

 

When Jon woke up it was still dark and Arya was sprawled out on top of him. One of her legs was wrapped around his waist and her head was buried in the crook of his neck. Jon didn’t mind. She’d always been a restless sleeper.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and let himself drift off into sleep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They deserve some fluff tbh.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my favourite relationship in the entire book series and I really wish there were more fic of them. So I decided, instead of wishing, maybe I could contribute.
> 
> These stories are all going to be unconnected and they're each going to be inspired by different songs. I'll name the titles of each chapter after the song, and I'll put a small quote at the beginning of each story but this isn't going to be a songfic. At least not the traditional sort. There won't be any music lyrics scattered in the stories. That usually irritates me so I won't be doing that. 
> 
> I'm not sure if every story should be a modern!au or if I should have some canon or canon divergences in there. Maybe you guys can tell me what you'd prefer.
> 
> I always accept constructive criticism, but I'm really just writing this for fun. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed.


End file.
